Lindisfarne - Svartsot

Ud for Northumbria den fagre ø la

For enden af ebbe-vejen, vandret af få

Kranset af vand, den kolde nordsø

Et kloster af sten der stod på den ø

Forvaret af bø lger, i fred at gøre bod

Munkenes sjæle var frelste, de troed

Rædslen for storme var gemt af veje

For hvem ville tro, at døden ku' sejle?

I det herrens år syvhundred' nititre

En mørk vinter morgen hyllet i sne

Skyerne spyed' torden og lyn

Og orme skreg, så grimt et syn

Tre snekker sås, af skåret stavn hver

Læssed' med stridsmænd, en hendningehær

Ført over havet i vindenes vold

Væbnet i læder, brynje og skjold

Uden et ord, de stormed' den strand

Ilden i hjertet lysted for strid

Guds mænd må slagtes, hver eneste mand

Danskerne kendte kun hæder og mod

Brødrene kendte kun barmhjertighed

Som bytte for ravnen de egned' sig mest

De elsked' deres frelser, de elsked' deres fred

Men hyrden så på mens flokken blev flået

Huden blev heven fra kød og fra ben

Skønt de havde deres herre, døde de alene

Ingen ku' måle sige med danskernes vrede

Døden de mødte i helligt højkor

Med sværdet til hjalten blev de gennemboret

Helgenblod gydtes på højaltrets dug

Hjemad de sejled' fra ran og slagtning

Hedningen, dansken, den stygge viking

Byttet var stort, og tabene små

Til de døde, de drak til de lå

De sang om deres ære, om gudernes gunst

De sang om den gode mjødbrygningskunst

I midgårds store sale de sang om deres dåd

I hjemlandets møer sæden blev såed

Vil verden nogensinde se dem igen

Der voldtog deres døtre og slagted' deres mænd

Stjal fra deres kirker og fyred' deres hjem

Det var en forsmag af, hvad der ville ske

Mange flere snekker var derefter set

Mange flere liv blev ladet i strid

Lindisfarne varsled' vikingetid

Off Northumbria the beautiful ø la

At the end of the ebb road, horizontal by few

Wreathed by water, the cold North Sea

A monastery of stones that stood on that island

Keeped by waves, in peace to make amends

The souls of the monks were saved, they believed

The fear of storms was hidden by roads

For who would believe that death could sail?

In the year of the Lord seven hundred 'nititre

A dark winter morning shrouded in snow

The clouds spyed 'thunder and lightning

And worms screamed, so ugly a sight

Three carpenters were seen, of cut staff each

Loaded with warriors, an army of armies

Led over the sea in the violence of the winds

Armed in leather, armor and shield

Without a word, they stormed the beach

The fire in the heart lusted for strife

The men of God must be slaughtered, every man

The Danes knew only honor and courage

The brothers knew only mercy

As prey for the raven they were most suitable

They loved 'their Savior, they loved' their peace

But the shepherd watched as the flock was skinned

The skin was raised from flesh and from bones

Though they had their master, they died alone

No one can measure up to the anger of the Danes

The death they met in sacred chorus

With the sword to the hero, they were pierced

Saint blood was shed on the high altar's tablecloth

Home they sailed 'from robbery and slaughter

The heathen, the Dane, the ugly Viking

The prey was large, and the losses small

To the dead, they drank until they lay

They sang about their glory, about the favor of the gods

They sang about the good art of mead brewing

In the large halls of Midgard they sang about their deed

In the maidens of the homeland the semen was sown

Will the world ever see them again

There raped their daughters and slaughtered 'their men

Stolen from their churches and fired their homes

It was a foretaste of what would happen

Many more carpenters were then seen

Many more lives were left in conflict

Lindisfarne foretold 'Viking Age